SF 16

Hearing the unmistakable message of rebellion woven into the lyrics, Ling Xun couldn’t help but shiver. It felt as if every hair on his body was standing on end from that ghostly, mournful chanting.

Sensing danger, he quickly unfolded the black gauze in his hand again and again, until it was fully open. It revealed itself to be the size of a full adult cloak, thin as a cicada’s wing and nearly transparent. It unfolded into a full-sized adult cloak, thin as a cicada’s wing and nearly transparent. Once draped over his shoulders, it blended him into the night. It did not render him completely invisible, but unless someone was deliberately searching, it would be difficult to notice his presence.

This was one of Ling Xun’s most prized creations. Crafted from the finest, softest, lightest silks and enhanced by formation principles, it was woven by his own hands. The cloak unified the five elements. When exposed to water, it turned to water. In the wind, it followed the wind. Its color could shift endlessly.

If this cloak had been made by a top-tier formation master, it would surely have rendered him fully invisible. Unfortunately, Ling Xun was a half-baked amateur. The best he could manage was a superb cloak for night travel. He had poured months of effort into it for the sole purpose of making it easier to escape if he ever needed to run. Even so, in a time when formation masters were scarce, this modest accomplishment was enough to make someone like Qin Chao green with envy.

Now shielded by this layer of protection, Ling Xun grew bolder and continued toward the direction of the singing.

At last, on the Xuantian Thoroughfare leading from the southern gate toward the palace, he saw the source of the song.

The reason he thought of them as “things” rather than people was because he could not be sure they were truly alive. Every one of them wore black robes and bamboo hats. Their faces were obscured by swirling black mist. He could not see their features. Their forms flickered in and out of view, at once solid and insubstantial. Each appeared to move on its own, yet when viewed from afar, they seemed to flow like smoke, linked together in an unbroken mass.

They marched in unison, forming an impenetrable square phalanx, ten zhang wide in both directions, steadily advancing toward the palace. At the front of the formation, armored soldiers with spears and halberds stood in their way, trying to halt their progress. But it was like a mantis trying to stop a chariot. That soundless, relentless force pressed forward without the slightest pause. Anything that stood in their path, whether person or object, was reduced to ash.

Wave after wave of guards fell. From the formation, those sparkler-like white lights that Ling Xun had seen earlier continued to shoot forth, dragging their blazing tails behind them. When they struck wooden carts or columns, fire burst out instantly, the flames spreading in a blink and lighting up the night sky like torches. When they struck soldiers, they ignited into glowing human fireballs, then crumbled into piles of ash, scattered like powder across the ground, crushed under the feet of those who followed.

“Once there was a mountain, its name was Zhou.
It pierced the clouds, towering between heaven and earth.
Spears struck it, yet still it stood…”

“Stop! Come any closer and we’ll throw firestones!” a squad leader among the guards shouted. But as the singing phalanx advanced step by step, his knife hand trembled uncontrollably, revealing the fear behind his forced bravado.

“The heavens had suns, nine wheels of light.
They scorched the fields and seared the homes.
Feathered arrows flew, and only ashes remained…”

The front of the formation was now less than half a li from the palace moat. These palace guards were handpicked elites from the imperial garrison, yet they were being forced back step by step by a a force that moved like ghostly apparitions.

“City defense archers, ready—!”

Archers had long been stationed atop the outer palace walls, bows drawn and arrows nocked, waiting for the moment those black-robed, wide-hatted figures came close enough to strike.

“Loose!”

The twang of bowstrings reverberated across the night sky. A dense rain of arrows poured down from the walls, carrying with it an inescapable, lethal momentum. The area within a hundred paces of the palace became a slaughterfield, pierced through by a thousand arrows, and even those palace guards who had failed to retreat in time were shot through like straw dolls.

But just as the arrow rain was about to reach the formation, the square phalanx suddenly shifted. The black-robed figures dispersed, not in panic but with slow, deliberate movements. Each step was measured, as if carried by the wind. What looked like disorder was, in truth, meticulously arranged.

They moved with steps incomprehensible to the average onlooker, sweeping their wide black sleeves in precise arcs. The synchrony of their gestures held an eerie, soaring beauty, as if they were dancing freely beneath the heavens.

“The waters held a dragon, it brought ruin to the world.
It churned the rivers, stirred the tides.
A wild blade fell, and broke the dragon’s bones.
The kingdom had a king, but virtue was lost.
He fed on loyal bones, drank children’s blood.
A hundred ghosts march—
Is the king safe?
A hundred ghosts march—
Is the king safe?”

As they sang and moved in unison, their voices grew louder, more resonant, until the very ground seemed to tremble beneath the force. Then, as their formation shifted once more, a violent wind suddenly swept across the skies. Their black robes snapped like banners. The barrage of arrows was caught in the gale, thrown into disarray, and scattered across the ground like worthless slips of bamboo.

“Fire the pitchstones!” the city defense officer shouted again, but this time his voice was thin and trembling, the authority stripped from it.

Stones soaked in oil and set ablaze were flung down one after another from the catapults, descending with unstoppable force like judgment from the heavens.

But the black-robed figures changed formation once more.

From a distance, Ling Xun had been silently watching. This time, he finally recognized the shape of the new array.

It was a configuration where one long row extended like a swimming dragon, while a circular array was embedded within it. The circle merged into the row, which wrapped around it from outside, a layout that mirrored the astrological image known as “The Hidden Dragon Swallows the Moon.”

The Hidden Dragon lies deep in the abyss, a symbol tied to water. The moon, in astrological imagery, also belongs to water, and numerologically corresponds to either metal or wood. Metal generates water, and water nourishes wood. From either interpretation, “Hidden Dragon Swallows the Moon” forms a dual-water nurturing cycle, an extreme water-womb formation. When such a sign appears in reality, it portends the descent of catastrophic flood and ruin.

Just as expected, not long after the formation was established, black clouds gathered over the palace, and torrential rain came pouring down. In the blink of an eye, the firestones were extinguished. The black-robed figures shifted formation once more, and the flaming stones falling from the sky suddenly broke apart midair into drifting yellow sand. Swept up by wind and rain, the sand flew back toward the palace walls and rained down upon the defenders.

The soldiers standing atop the walls screamed in agony. Some had their eyes filled with sand, while others had their mouths and noses clogged and could not breathe.

“The kingdom had a king, but virtue was lost.
He fed on loyal bones, drank children’s blood.
A hundred ghosts march—
Is the king safe?
A hundred ghosts march—
Is the king safe…”

The song pierced through the curtain of rain, drifting toward the innermost depths of the palace, that sacred and untouchable heart of imperial power.

Ling Xun watched as the black-robed, wide-hatted figures reassembled into a square formation and advanced toward the moat, on the verge of breaching the first of the nine palace gates.

But at that moment, a flaming arrow shot from within the palace. It defied the downpour and struck with precision at a point within the enemy’s formation.

Unlike before, when they had calmly shifted their formation to adapt, this time the black-clad formation, so seemingly unbreakable, showed the first signs of disruption. Before they could recover, more flaming arrows followed one after another, striking at different corners of the formation, further destabilizing its structure.

Then a voice rang out from atop the city wall, neither male nor female in tone.

“You mongrels dare defy the heavens. Did you think conjuring up some illusionary formation would be enough to scare me? Even if I have to throw away this old life, I won’t let you disgrace the emperor or mock the might of the throne!”

It was the voice of Qin Chao, Chief Eunuch of the Inner Court.

The palace guards, who had been overcome with despair at the sight of that seemingly unstoppable formation, were instantly stirred by his shout. Morale surged. They scrambled to pick up fallen weapons.

At the same time, the tightly shut palace gates slowly opened. From within, a team surged out. Among them were some dressed in official robes, some in commoner clothing, but most were eunuchs in imperial purple.

These men carried no blades or cudgels. Instead, like the black-clad figures, they moved in formation. Their fingers traced incantations, their steps aligned with the stars, and their patterns shifted in rapid succession.

“Those are formation masters! We have formation masters too!” a soldier nearby shouted with excitement.

The rain ceased. The bright moon returned.

The scattered sand that had once been broken from the falling stones now reassembled into solid rock, reigniting with fierce flames that charged straight at the enemy formation.

Sensing the tide had turned, the black-robed figures scattered and fled. Most of them dissolved into black smoke as they ran, leaving behind only a few real human bodies who darted toward the side alleys in escape.

“Arrest those rogue formation masters! Traitors! Do not let a single one escape!” Qin Chao shouted in fury. The palace guard surged forward in full force to carry out the arrests.

Only now did Ling Xun realize how bad things had gotten. He was currently hiding at the mouth of a nearby alley. If the guards gave chase and discovered him, and then confirmed he was a formation master, wouldn’t he be mistaken for one of the traitorous rebels? Even if he jumped into the Yellow River, he wouldn’t be able to wash himself clean.

If his legs had been in proper shape, he wouldn’t have feared a little pursuit. But right now, he was practically half-crippled. Even climbing over a wall would take him the time of a tea steep, and he couldn’t even leap onto a roof. How was he supposed to escape?

The situation was becoming more urgent by the second. Ling Xun hesitated, unsure whether to run or just pretend to be dead and stay still. But before he could decide, a formation master under Qin Chao suddenly turned toward his hiding spot, clearly sensing something, and dashed in his direction.

Just as he was about to be exposed, Ling Xun suddenly felt someone grab him hard at the back. The world went black, and the ground vanished beneath his feet. Light and shadow twisted around him. The gates of a thousand households flashed past his eyes like phantom illusions.

He knew this feeling. It was just like that time he had been abducted by the Senior Official.

When his feet finally touched solid ground again, he found himself standing in a strange temple.

The courtyard was overgrown with weeds. The vermilion paint on the doors had long peeled away. A half-shuttered window had fallen from its hinges. Clearly, this place had been abandoned for years. Ling Xun stood inside the temple, and all was silent. The commotion had faded completely. That meant he was now far from the palace. The sky above was free of that terrifying blaze, leaving only a cold moon and faint stars casting their pale light. It was just enough to make out his surroundings.

The silence was so complete one could hear a pin drop. Ling Xun scanned the area but saw no one. Whoever had brought him here had disappeared. He pricked up his ears, straining to catch the slightest sound in the air, then cautiously made his way toward the inner sanctum where the statue of the Grand Supreme Elder Lord was enshrined.

At last, he stepped over the crumbling threshold, and saw someone standing in front of the statue.

The figure had his back to him. He was tall and lean, but not fragile. He wore a plain gray tunic, simple to the eye, yet his presence was like a treasured blade wrapped in coarse cloth. No matter how unremarkable the scabbard looked, it could not dull the sharp edge of the weapon within.

Ling Xun’s eyes widened in disbelief. His lips trembled slightly from the intensity of emotion.

After a long pause, he called out softly, as if testing the air.

“…My… benefactor?”